day tilde - arguing
Wheeeeeee! This is a little more in the universe of doing something ridiculous. In my head, they're in grad school, but Charles is a few years younger than Erik, Moira, et al.
I've not been beta-ing these because...writing one per day, etc...but pearl_o let me run this one by her when I was struggling because she is great.
***
arguing (~1000)
***
"Look," Charles says, "all of that is absurd. It's absurd. You must realize it's absurd."
Erik doesn't say anything. He doesn't protest or agree or react in anyway except to steal Charles' joint and inhale deeply. Charles peers up at him through narrowed eyes. Erik is sitting cross-legged, his back against the bed. He's not wearing shoes or socks, even though the bedroom is freezing, if markedly quieter than the rest of the house.
"You're the only person I've ever met who likes to argue when they get stoned," Erik says when he passes the joint back. He exhales through his nose and leans back so his head is resting against the mattress.
"I always like to argue," Charles replies, blinking. Charles, by contrast, is lying on his stomach. His weight rests on his elbows. The position does strange things to the light creeping in through the blinds and the color of Erik's hair. The light from outside is the only light in the room, presently, aside from the cherry of the joint. Charles takes another hit and lets it out slowly. "Unfortunately, mostly people I try to argue with are quite dim and get discouraged easily, so it doesn't happen as much as I'd like."
"I'll bet," Erik murmurs. He shifts around and pulls his legs up and against his chest until he can lead forward on his knees. Charles can't look away from his feet. He doesn't know why. They're nice feet, yes, but not particularly interesting except for the fact that they're on display. It's a casual sort of intimacy, something not expected and filled with a meaning that Charles is still trying to suss out.
Erik takes the joint back, but doesn't take a hit. He says, "You're a pain in the ass to argue with. You think you're always right."
"I am always right," Charles says, which is a lie that even he is self-aware enough to recognize. It sounds like the sort of thing to say in this situation. It has the right patter. Charles isn't obsessed with appearances in the way that his mother is, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have his own eccentricities. He likes to be the one directing the story, the protagonist in his own life, as it were. He doesn't think that's necessarily a bad thing--everyone should be the main character in their autobiography, shouldn't they?
Raven calls him a control freak.
"No, you're always sure, which isn't the same as always being right," Erik says. He leans forward and looks down at Charles, almost pensive. "You broke up with your girlfriend a week ago. Are we going to go beyond this? We don't have to."
Erik wants to. Even in the dim light of the room, Charles can see it in his eyes. He can see it, too, in every movement he's made since the night Charles met him. The touches. The looks. Erik made it clear he likes Charles and Charles made it clear he likes Erik and then they let it simmer while Charles took care of his business, but they really should get on with it. The wanting is nice--hot and sharp, a welcome distraction from his work, an exquisite feelings between his ribs, a frenetic energy behind everything he's done since the moment he and Erik first spoke.
The rest of it will be even better, Charles imagines. The rest of his relationship with Erik is already better than any other he's ever had.
"I think we do," Charles says. "I think if we didn't, if we tried not to, it might drive us mad."
"Leave us giving in and ripping each other's clothes off in the middle of the library?" Erik asks.
"Or make us mortal enemies, dedicated to spending the rest of our lives foiling one another, addicted to the passion of that hatred because it's the closest we can get to the passion of what we really want," Charles says, raising one eyebrow. Erik laughs and unfolds himself, shifting back into his previous crosslegged position and leaning even further forward.
"Do you think all of fiction's greatest rivalries could be solved with fucking?" he asks.
"Not all," Charles says. "There's hatred and then there's the sort of proprietary hatred that's really just repression. Lex Luthor and Superman, Rick and Renault in Casablanca, the Doctor and the Master...."
"I'd hate for us to end up like that," Erik says. "Although, Louis and Rick did begin a beautiful friendship at the end of Casablanca, purportedly."
"They did," Charles agrees. He's lost track of the joint, but has to trust that Erik isn't going to burn down their host's bedroom with it. He's too busy looking at Erik to make sure the furniture isn't on fire.
"Do you want a beautiful friendship, Charles?"
Charles does want a beautiful friendship. A beautiful friendship, as Charles has expounded to Moira multiple times, is the cornerstone of the type of relationship Charles wants to grow old in. He wants to love whomever he marries, but mostly he wants to like them. He wants to enjoy spending time with them. He wants to laugh and tease and debate and have fun.
Yes, Charles wants a beautiful friendship. But that's not his line.
"I want you to kiss me," is what he says, is the right thing to say, because Erik shifts again, rolls to his knees while Charles rolls to his back and then Erik is straddling him, kneeling over him, leaning down while Charles pushes himself up for their long awaited first kiss.
The angle is strange--Charles is propped up on one elbow and Erik is nearly doubled over. One of his hands is spread between Charles' shoulder blades, holding him up. The other hand is curled around Charles' jaw as their mouths move together. It's odd for a first kiss--Charles is more confident than he usually is when he kisses someone for the first time and Erik is intent and focused and clearly knows what he wants. It would feel more like the sort of kiss that's long practiced and familiar if it wasn't for the way that Charles' nerve endings are alight.
Erik's mouth is warm and he tastes like stale beer and pot smoke. There's something sweet there, too, as Charles sucks on his lower lip, something else that he can't pin down. When he pulls away, dizzy and giddy and grinning, he still hasn't figured it out. That's okay, though. He has a feeling he'll have plenty of time to explore further.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot
I've not been beta-ing these because...writing one per day, etc...but pearl_o let me run this one by her when I was struggling because she is great.
***
arguing (~1000)
***
"Look," Charles says, "all of that is absurd. It's absurd. You must realize it's absurd."
Erik doesn't say anything. He doesn't protest or agree or react in anyway except to steal Charles' joint and inhale deeply. Charles peers up at him through narrowed eyes. Erik is sitting cross-legged, his back against the bed. He's not wearing shoes or socks, even though the bedroom is freezing, if markedly quieter than the rest of the house.
"You're the only person I've ever met who likes to argue when they get stoned," Erik says when he passes the joint back. He exhales through his nose and leans back so his head is resting against the mattress.
"I always like to argue," Charles replies, blinking. Charles, by contrast, is lying on his stomach. His weight rests on his elbows. The position does strange things to the light creeping in through the blinds and the color of Erik's hair. The light from outside is the only light in the room, presently, aside from the cherry of the joint. Charles takes another hit and lets it out slowly. "Unfortunately, mostly people I try to argue with are quite dim and get discouraged easily, so it doesn't happen as much as I'd like."
"I'll bet," Erik murmurs. He shifts around and pulls his legs up and against his chest until he can lead forward on his knees. Charles can't look away from his feet. He doesn't know why. They're nice feet, yes, but not particularly interesting except for the fact that they're on display. It's a casual sort of intimacy, something not expected and filled with a meaning that Charles is still trying to suss out.
Erik takes the joint back, but doesn't take a hit. He says, "You're a pain in the ass to argue with. You think you're always right."
"I am always right," Charles says, which is a lie that even he is self-aware enough to recognize. It sounds like the sort of thing to say in this situation. It has the right patter. Charles isn't obsessed with appearances in the way that his mother is, but it doesn't mean he doesn't have his own eccentricities. He likes to be the one directing the story, the protagonist in his own life, as it were. He doesn't think that's necessarily a bad thing--everyone should be the main character in their autobiography, shouldn't they?
Raven calls him a control freak.
"No, you're always sure, which isn't the same as always being right," Erik says. He leans forward and looks down at Charles, almost pensive. "You broke up with your girlfriend a week ago. Are we going to go beyond this? We don't have to."
Erik wants to. Even in the dim light of the room, Charles can see it in his eyes. He can see it, too, in every movement he's made since the night Charles met him. The touches. The looks. Erik made it clear he likes Charles and Charles made it clear he likes Erik and then they let it simmer while Charles took care of his business, but they really should get on with it. The wanting is nice--hot and sharp, a welcome distraction from his work, an exquisite feelings between his ribs, a frenetic energy behind everything he's done since the moment he and Erik first spoke.
The rest of it will be even better, Charles imagines. The rest of his relationship with Erik is already better than any other he's ever had.
"I think we do," Charles says. "I think if we didn't, if we tried not to, it might drive us mad."
"Leave us giving in and ripping each other's clothes off in the middle of the library?" Erik asks.
"Or make us mortal enemies, dedicated to spending the rest of our lives foiling one another, addicted to the passion of that hatred because it's the closest we can get to the passion of what we really want," Charles says, raising one eyebrow. Erik laughs and unfolds himself, shifting back into his previous crosslegged position and leaning even further forward.
"Do you think all of fiction's greatest rivalries could be solved with fucking?" he asks.
"Not all," Charles says. "There's hatred and then there's the sort of proprietary hatred that's really just repression. Lex Luthor and Superman, Rick and Renault in Casablanca, the Doctor and the Master...."
"I'd hate for us to end up like that," Erik says. "Although, Louis and Rick did begin a beautiful friendship at the end of Casablanca, purportedly."
"They did," Charles agrees. He's lost track of the joint, but has to trust that Erik isn't going to burn down their host's bedroom with it. He's too busy looking at Erik to make sure the furniture isn't on fire.
"Do you want a beautiful friendship, Charles?"
Charles does want a beautiful friendship. A beautiful friendship, as Charles has expounded to Moira multiple times, is the cornerstone of the type of relationship Charles wants to grow old in. He wants to love whomever he marries, but mostly he wants to like them. He wants to enjoy spending time with them. He wants to laugh and tease and debate and have fun.
Yes, Charles wants a beautiful friendship. But that's not his line.
"I want you to kiss me," is what he says, is the right thing to say, because Erik shifts again, rolls to his knees while Charles rolls to his back and then Erik is straddling him, kneeling over him, leaning down while Charles pushes himself up for their long awaited first kiss.
The angle is strange--Charles is propped up on one elbow and Erik is nearly doubled over. One of his hands is spread between Charles' shoulder blades, holding him up. The other hand is curled around Charles' jaw as their mouths move together. It's odd for a first kiss--Charles is more confident than he usually is when he kisses someone for the first time and Erik is intent and focused and clearly knows what he wants. It would feel more like the sort of kiss that's long practiced and familiar if it wasn't for the way that Charles' nerve endings are alight.
Erik's mouth is warm and he tastes like stale beer and pot smoke. There's something sweet there, too, as Charles sucks on his lower lip, something else that he can't pin down. When he pulls away, dizzy and giddy and grinning, he still hasn't figured it out. That's okay, though. He has a feeling he'll have plenty of time to explore further.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot